


Be weary of the woods (Be weary of the wolves)

by Nameha



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gentleness, Gods and Monsters, Hurt/Comfort, KakaYama Week 2020, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nameha/pseuds/Nameha
Summary: After Yamato escapes Konoha, he encounters a hungry God with mismatched eyes accompanied by a ghostly pack of wolves.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	Be weary of the woods (Be weary of the wolves)

**Author's Note:**

> *Deep inhale* I'm late

The icy, frigid, air burns with each stuttering inhale, half full lungs push threateningly against broken ribs. His ragged breathing loud in his ears. Heartbeat a frantic, violent, backdrop to his dread.

_Just a bit further_

He can hear them, Konoha shinobi, ANBU, closing in from behind, flanking his sides as he continues to run. The price for his defection would surely be worse than death, Danzo no doubt would see to that.

He makes his way to the shade, makes a line for the trees, the forest would be his only reprieve.

If he could just make it, _if he could just…_

A kunai lances through the meat of his thigh, making him stumble forward with a serrated, blinding, surge of pain. His strangled cry dies in his throat, a short choked off sound. He grips his thigh, to halt the bleeding, continuing to flee. Warm blood bubbles up from between his fingers, as his panicked heart continues to pump blood out through the laceration. He’s lost so much blood already from previous confrontations. He doesn’t think he can spare much more.

His head swims.

He’s come so far, he can’t give in, he can’t succumb, to the pain, to the disorientation, now. He’s just a few feet from salvation. His battle battered body shambles into a sprint, one hand flies out infront of him reaching for the dark outline of the trees. His vision blurs as he collides with the snow, stars explode behind his eyes, air expelled from his lungs in a wheezing gasp.

The cold moon burning a hole in the cloudless sky above.

His arms and legs tremble as he drags himself past the treeline, into the dark, where the light of the moon filters in from the canopy. He can hear the muffled footsteps come to a halt, the weaving shadow’s still from the other side of the trees. They dare not follow him here, he knows.  
Even Root operatives heed the warning.

He drags himself deeper, a trail of blood desecrating the untouched purity of fresh snow.

_Be weary of the woods_

Though Yamato had always mistaken the warning for another, conjuring a different thought.

He hears a far cry, a howl, in the distance, echoing from over the mountains.

_Be weary of the wolves_

He struggles to stand, finding purchase on the trees to keep his body upright.

The snow crunches under his heavy, clumsy, steps. No longer the careful, measured, footfalls of a shinobi. He holds his side, his aching ribs, with one hand as he staggers forward, the other smears blood across the tree’s he’s leaning against.  
He wanders, for hours, cold and alone, through the spirling maze of woodland. Strength waning as he sways from side to side, shoulder checking a tree; He falls against it.

He grimaces as he forces his body to keep moving, to continue his aimless trek.

New snow starts to fall, obscuring his vision and already concealing his foot prints.

He finds a tree quite a distance from his starting point and drops, back against it as he heaves, chilled body racked with pain. His vision blurs with the flurries suspended on the wind.

The howling, yipping, cries have gotten closer, voices overlapping like static. It won’t be long until they find him now.

The blood trailing from his nose comes to dry crystalline, lips blue as his body struggles against the elements. Blood pooling, to freeze, beneath his thigh. He doesn’t have the strength, the chakra, to bend the forest to his needs. He pulls the standared issued cloak closer but it does little to stave off the chill.

He’s fought long enough, hard enough, he can rest now. The absent sounds of the forest envelope him. His hazy eyes fall shut, the grip on his side slackens, as his head falls forward.  
It doesn’t matter now, if he dies, he’s free.

What…what a wonderful thought.  
His eyes snap open when he feels a presence materialize. A swirling vortex of snow announcing a heavy atmospheric chakra composed of crackling, glacial, electricity.

“My, my, this skin it wears so well.”

Struggling to focus, Yamato’s vision obscured by the flurries, he blinks the fatigue from his eyes, white shards sitting heavy on his lashes.

Kakashi Hatake, spirit of the forest, once human now a hungry God. One who preys on those hopeless souls who wander in. He stands before Yamato now, a visage of pale death, inspecting his own hands with amusement as he turns them over.

Mismatched eyes fall upon him, a heavy scar running down through the red pin prick pupil of a red left eye. A ghostly pack of wolves, the consistency of smoke, flank his sides. Their wisping bodies twist and writhe in unison. Glowing eyes, yellows, blues and reds, shift their focus from Kakashi to Yamato, not daring to move out of rank.  
“Have you…come to kill me?” Yamato rasps through his cracked lips, the words coming out as white puffs, burning his throat with the effort.

There’s no fear in his eyes, his voice, what’s a God to a lifetime spent in hell?

“Mhm.” Kakashi advances on him, coming to kneel so they’re face to face. Yamato can see the tomoe of the borrowed, or stolen, sharingan clearly, the lazy spin is hypnotic.

“The only sin is to burn the forest down,” Kakashi traces the leaf symbol engraved in Yamato’s happuri, “You won’t burn my forest, will you? Little Konoha shinobi?” Kakashi smiles, heavy incisors too big peek out from his lips, too sharp to be friendly.  
Yamato shakes his head, moving his palm out from the cloak to a patch of snow beside him. Wiping the snow away to expose the earth beneath. He channels what chakra he can spare through his hand and into the ground, he removes his hand to reveal newly grown grass, a lone flower.

Kakashi’s eyes widen, the fingers tracing his headplate still.

“I’m no…Konoha shinobi. Not anymore.” Yamato doesn’t meet his eyes, opting instead to observe the flower swaying in the chill, a dusting of white already accumulating on the petals.

It won’t survive the night, how fitting for the both of them.

“Ah, what an interesting…little shinobi to have wandered into my forest.” Kakashi breathes, the fog that should remain was not to be seen, though his hot breath wafts across Yamato’s cheek all the same.

“What should be done with you…” Kakashi’s eyes cut to the flower before settling back on Yamato’s face. Though his eyes are already closed, dark circles of exhaustion adorning his under eyes. Kakashi thumbs Yamato’s cheek but he doesn’t stir, head falling forward to rest on Kakashi’s shoulder.

“Precious little shinobi.”  
—  
Yamato’s eyes flutter open. He squints, temporarily blinded by the glare of light reflected across the expanse of snow. His eyes dart across the undisturbed landscape, all indications of his previous encounter eradicated.

There’s no God, no wolves, just the all consuming emptiness. His hair falls towards his eyebrows as he shakes his head, his forehead protector gone.

He’s alive. He’s….warm?

Yamato sits up, wincing with the pulling ache of his wounds, a thick layer of snow dislodges from his person. He can’t feel the cold though. A heavy pelt, a layer of protection, slips from his shoulders to pool in his lap. He tilts his head, squeezing his eyes shut, when he opens them the pelt remains.

He runs his hands through the downy soft fur. Confusion churns heavy in his gut, he tries to stand but his legs resist. Too weak to move from his spot under the tree. He shifts his weight to the side in an attempt to get comfortable, he’ll be here for a while, he guesses.

He spies a small pile of rabbits, fresh kills, to his left. Their glassy, sunken, eyes stare up at him.

He blankly stares back.

He needs to eat, he knows, if he’s to survive this hellish frozen wasteland. But he can’t bring himself to move any further.

Did Kakashi bring him these? The question sits heavy in the forefront of his mind, the only eclipsing thought is _why?_

“Don’t be ungrateful, little shinobi.”

Yamato snaps his gaze upwards, to the figure looming above the pile. When had he?

“Are you so helpless that you can’t even eat by yourself?” Kakashi kneels, taking a rabbit by the neck, and taking a few short steps to him. Yamato tracks the rabbit’s limp body swaying side to side like a pendulum. He drops infront of Yamato, inspecting his kill.

“To think I went through the trouble of catching these. No matter, I’ll help you, little shinobi.”

Yamato watches him with a practiced caution, the gravity of his situation isn’t lost on him. It settles heavily into his awareness. He’s alert now, could even draw up a kunai to defend himself. But he knows he’d be no match for the God. In this situation, he no longer sits atop the food chain, there’s a greater predator now.

Kakashi smirks, bringing his jaws down on the rabbit with a sickening crunch. Yamato doesn’t flinch at the sound of splintering bone, merely observing Kakashi with wary passivity. 

Tearing a chunk from the rabbit, blood oozes out of the fresh wound, smearing across Kakashi’s mouth and teeth. A sight to behold as he stares at Yamato from under his thick lashes, the sharingan bright against the colorless backdrop of white.

He holds the mangled rabbit up to Yamato, an offering, pushing the mangled carcass against his lips. It’s futile to resist, even when he turns his head, his eyes, away. Kakashi persists emitting a low growl to obey, to show gratitude.

Yamato slides his eyes back to the rabbit. Blood, still warm, accumulating in droplets on the pale fur. He takes a tentative bite, bearing down on the exposed meat but he can’t tear through the muscle. He pulls away, after a while, attempt failed, jaw aching. He leans back against the tree with a sigh, Kakashi watches him, unimpressed with his efforts.

Kakashi chuckles with a click of his tongue, eyes turned up mischievously. Bringing his fingers up to Yamato’s mouth, he pushes past his lips, finger tips grazing over Yamato’s teeth.

“Mhm, such puny teeth. No wonder.”

Yamato makes no move against the fingers in his mouth, trying his best to keep his tongue still. The taste of worn leather is substantial against his taste buds.

Kakashi, mercifully, removes his fingers, satisfied with his findings. Through no fault of his own this one just isn’t built for such a task. He knows the little shinobi isn’t as incompetent as he appears, pressed up against the tree like one of the rabbits he dispatched earlier.  
Kakashi takes another bite out of the rabbit, tendons snapping with ease as he makes quick work of it. He grinds the flesh into manageable bits. Yamato eyes him warily, unsure of his next move.

He should have been dead by now, either by exposure or at the hand of the terrible God. He is, however, very much alive and being doted upon by said God. Maybe he’s in the final throes of hypothermia, or trapped in a genjutsu conjuring images of being cared for, before he finally succumbs.

Kakashi cups Yamato’s cheeks, keeping his grip firm but gentle as he presses their lips together. Yamato’s eyes widen, hands flying up to grip his wrists. He struggles against the hold, with whatever strength he can muster. Kakashi’s mouth is impossibly hot, a stark, jarring contrast to his own. Kakashi transfers the meat, keeping his head still until he’s finished.

The heat is too much for him with Kakashi’s mouth moving against his own. His touch starved body reacts accordingly, closing his eyes and chasing Kakashi’s departing mouth as he pants.

Kakashi pulls away, reversing the hold on his wrists only to let Yamato’s hands fall away, he doesn’t bother to wipe his mouth of blood and saliva.

“Hungry, aren’t you?”

Yamato swallows with a nod, dazed eyes tracking Kakashi silently. The metallic taste of blood coating the back of his throat. The measly portion of rabbit only served to kick start his appetite, the realization he hasn’t eaten in days causes his stomach to growl.

“Don’t worry, you won’t go hungry, there’s plenty. Do you want more?”

Yamato nods again, eyes half mast, mind blank as his brain struggles to catch up. Kakashi wastes no time, eyeing Yamato as he tears another piece from the rabbit.

He repeats the previous action but Yamato doesn’t struggle, doesn’t pull away. This time, he’s eager for the heat of Kakashi’s mouth to consume him. He swallows against Kakashi, their mouths moving in tandem, his palms coming up to press against his chest as Kakashi bares down on him.

“You’re so cold.” Kakashi whispers against Yamato’s cheek. His breath hot, but it makes Yamato shiver. Kakashi’s hands snake down through his clothing, passing over the gash in his side. Yamato winces, drawing a hissing breath.

“Oh, poor thing, you’re hurt.” Kakashi coos against the side of Yamato’s neck, thick canines grazing the tender flesh, the juncture point. Kakashi presses two fingers into the wound, causing Yamato to squirm at the intrusion.

“Shh, shh, I’ll take care of you.” Kakashi smiles against the back of Yamato’s ear, caging him in. Yamato can feel it, the thunder clap of gathering chakra, it shoots through him, faster than a white thunderbolt. Searing the wound shut, he curls against Kakashi for support. Yamato wheezes, sweat accumulating on his brow from the intensity, his chest heaving in shallow rapid pants. He can see oscillating stars behind his eyes.

Kakashi moves down towards his thighs, pulling Yamato down against the tree until only his shoulders touch the bark.

“And here too. my, my, you’ve been reckless. What have you been up to?” Kakashi pulls Yamato’s thighs over his shoulders. Peppering the inside of his thighs with kisses before laving his tongue in a long strip down the laceration. Yamato tries to pull his leg back but Kakashi keeps a hold on his knee.

“I-…Defected.” Yamato states cooly, even from his position underneath Kakashi the fear he supposes he should feel, doesn’t come. So close to the jaws of oblivion.

“And so brave too. Shinobi, especially those from Konoha, are not long for this world after they enter my forest.” Kakashi purrs, the high of his cheekbone resting against the meat of Yamato’s thigh.

“…Then why have mercy?”

Kakashi leans his full weight against Yamato’s thigh, tracing small circles over the closing wound, he looks up at Yamato through half lidded eyes.

“You said it yourself, you’re no longer a shinobi of Konoha. What providence, what divine intelligence…to bring you, someone so precious, to me.”

Kakashi rests his forehead against his, a tender gesture so unfamiliar to Yamato.

“Come to me, bring what you’ve been fleeing from. Come home, to the pack, and know that you’re loved.”

Yamato’s heart sits high in his throat, loved? An abomination, a product of spliced DNA, shaped, warped, into an emotionless soldier, loved?

What….what a wonderful thought.  
Kakashi’s mouth finds his again and Yamato meets him, pulling his shoulders from the tree. He doesn’t have to go far, thankfully, as their mouths slot together. Kakashi all but folds Yamato in half, pushing him down, back against the tree for leverage. Yamato sighs when Kakashi’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. It doesn’t hurt, much, a manageable pain he can dwell on. He doesn’t even feel the chill nipping at his exposed midriff as Kakashi’s hands slide the fabric up, away, in an attempt for more contact.

“You can stay here, with me. Little shinobi.” Kakashi exhales, letting one of Yamato’s legs fall off his shoulder to his hip.

“Ya-Yamato, my name, it’s Yamato.”

Kakashi pauses, pulling away and Yamato feels he’s broken the illusion. Maybe Kakashi doesn’t want him, maybe he only desires the mokuton, what is he worth if not that?

But the way Kakashi’s eyes soften, even the Sharingan seems to dim, the thoughts are violently shunted away.

“Stay with me, Yamato.” Kakashi corrects himself, a tender hand cupping Yamato’s cheek, a distinct difference from the searing nature of the kiss.

How could he possibly refuse? 

Yamato nods, curling into Kakashi, feeling the heat radiating, building, between them. Nothing else matters. He surges up, claiming Kakashi’s mouth this time, pushing himself up from his place against the tree. He wants to be loved, he wants Kakashi to love him.

“I-…I…Bring me…to the pack…bring me to love.” Yamato murmurs, tangling his hands in Kakashi’s hair for leverage. Kakashi pulls away, only to adjust before he bares down on Yamato again, his face pushed into the crook of Yamato’s neck as he breathes.

“You could never go back.” Kakashi warns, softly, against the shell of his ear, as his fingers trace circles into Yamato’s midriff.

“I don’t want to…there’s…nothing, I don’t feel at home in this world.” Yamato confesses as he fists the fabric of Kakashi’s clothing.

“Then come as you are…” Kakashi pulls away, sitting up to kneel before he stands. Yamato reaches out for him and Kakashi grips him tightly, pulling him up as well. Yamato sways on uneasy legs, stumbling forward, Kakashi catches him with ease and holds him until he’s ready to stand on his own.

The swirling yipping cries announce their company. The wolves wrestle with their smoking bodies and sharp eyes just a few feet away and Kakashi chuckles at their antics. Yamato can’t help but feel a new swell of warmth in his chest at the sight.

He takes Yamato’s hand in his as he leads him deeper into the forest, beyond where the sunlight of late afternoon can reach.

He’s been cold, wandering alone. But now…in the shadow woods after a fresh snowfall, he doesn’t have to be lonely at all.  
\---  
They say to be weary of the woods, the dark looming trees in the recesses of Fire Country that border Konoha. A hungry God lives there, preying on wayward Shinobi. A Spirit of the forest who turns travels to trees. The legends are old. But they heed the warning all the same.

Though, strangely enough, a young team of Genin, who had gotten lost in the same forest told a different version. They came upon them in a pasture. A kindly jounin sensei with stark white hair, that could resemble a Hatake, face covered save for a single eye. He was in the company of a tender eyed Captain, a man who could grow trees and flowers with ease. They stayed with the Genin, feeding and caring for them before they led them out of the forest.

When the genin turned to give their thanks, the men had vanished but they could hear the echoing cries of wolves in the distance, the happy yipping howl of a pack.


End file.
